


Cravings

by tender_is_the_ghost



Category: Norman Reedus - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fat Shaming, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, Kissing, New Relationship, Romance, Sex, Woman on Top, redhead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norman has a crush on a pretty redhead but doesn't think he stands a chance until he overhears something he shouldn't...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cravings

 

Norman lay on the hot, hard earth, one arm thrown up over his eyes, as he waited for the air to return to his lungs, wondering briefly if this would be the time his over-worked and abused body would finally say, “No way!”, and give up on him completely.

“Aww man, I’m sorry,” comes a distinctly British-sounding voice from above him and the air whooshes back into his lungs as two strong hands grab him and haul him to his feet.

He sways a little, squinting into the acid rays of the late afternoon Georgia sun and feeling a new layer of sweat and grime coat his skin. He leans over, hands gripping at his knees and coughs out a mouthful of dust, batting at Andy’s hands which are making their routine check of his torso for any broken bones.

“Get off me, man, I’m fine,” he rasps, spitting into the dirt at his feet. “You and your fucking long legs are going to be the death of me one of these days, I swear to God!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t run in a straight line! If you’d stayed on your side, I never would have run into you.”

“Fuck you, I was perfectly straight,” says Norman, straightening up and shielding his eyes to look at Andy’s filthy, smirking face. “You know what?”

“You’re too old for this shit?” Andy replies with a grin, clapping Norman on the back.

“Fuckin’ ‘A’”, Norman chuckles, turning to give a thumbs up to the gaggle of crew members waiting to see if one of their leading men needs yet another trip to the emergency room.

At his signal that he’s okay, everyone starts moving again, prepping to run the shot again, and Andy and Norman trek back to their starting marks, shoulders bumping occasionally as they pick their way over the rocky ground. Back in position, they wait for the crew and extras to get back to where they need to be and Norman catches sight of a familiar flash of red hair in the mess of people milling around. He cranes his neck to get a better look, pushing up on his tip-toes until the crowd shifts a little and he finds the person he’s looking for. He smiles as he sees Skye’s face, thinking how pretty she looks today with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail that accentuates the curve of her neck as she turns away from him to talk to somebody nearby. He watches her for a few minutes until he becomes aware of Andy standing in his peripheral vision, looking at him with one hand clasped thoughtfully to his bearded chin. Norman reluctantly drags his eyes from Skye and slides them in Andy’s direction.

“What?” he grumbles, already knowing what Andy’s response is going to be.

“For the love of all that is holy, brother, just ask the damn girl out so I can get through one day without having to look at your smitten face every time she walks by.”

“I am not smitten, who the fuck even says ‘smitten’ any more, old man?” Norman huffs, shooting an elbow at Andy’s mid-section. “I like her, okay? I just don’t think it would work.”

“Why not? I mean, apart from the obvious hindrance of you being so damn ugly.”

“Because, smart-ass, I think she already has a boyfriend. And anyway, even if she doesn’t, she’s not going to believe I’m serious if I ask her out. She probably thinks I ask out twenty girls a day.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cos you’re such a stud,” Andy drawls sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” replies Norman, giving his friend a light shove.

“Well, you’re not going to know until you try,” Andy tells him with a shrug. “I say go for it, man, what do you have to lose? It’s not like you have any dignity left.”

“Tell me why I’m friends with you again?” Norman asks in mock seriousness but his eyes seek out Skye again and he wonders if Andy might be right in his own irritating way.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The next morning finds Norman on set with dawn’s light barely breaking over the horizon, sleep still crusting his eyes, his body aching from the fall he took the day before, a cardboard tray of coffees clutched in one hand, a bag of donuts in the other. He looks up as he approaches the make-up trailer, grateful to see the door is propped open, then stops just outside as his phone vibrates in his pocket and he transfers the donut bag to his teeth while he pulls it out. Unlocking it, he sees a text from Andy which reads, ‘Stop being such a wanker and ask her out already!! :p’. Steadying the phone against the coffees in his other hand, he fumbles to type out a suitably witty comeback, ‘Fuck you, dickweed!’, then slides the phone back into his pocket. Shaking his head at Andy’s words, he realizes he can hear voices coming from inside the trailer and smiles when he recognizes one of them as Skye’s. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and is just about to go inside when he hears his name in the conversation and he pauses, curiosity warring with his morals over eavesdropping. His morals lose the battle as he listens to the voice of Sara, the new make-up woman for this season, as she talks to Skye.

“Girl, you have got to stop making moo-eyes over that man. It ain’t ever gonna happen,” he hears Sara say, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“Why not? Maybe if he knew how I really feel about him, that it’s not just some silly crush, he’d give it a chance?”

“Oh honey, men like him are never going to look at someone like you as girlfriend material,” Sara says with a dismissive laugh. “Have you seen the models he dates? And have you looked in the mirror lately? Unless you lay off the donuts and do some exercise, there’s no way he’s ever going to think of you as anything but the chubby girl who washes his hair. You need to stop deluding yourself, Skye, set your sights a little lower than Norman Reedus.”

“I do exercise,” he hears Skye mutter under her breath and the sound of hurt and defeat in her voice makes his fingers tighten hard around the tray in his hand.

He wants nothing more than to march inside and tell Sara that she’s wrong, that he finds Skye beautiful and that he’s insulted to his core that she thinks he’s so shallow that he would judge someone solely on their appearance. But he doesn’t, not wanting to embarrass Skye any more than she probably already is, so instead he plasters a fake smile on his face and stomps loudly up the trailer steps to let them know he’s there. Skye looks up from the sink where she’s laying out the products for his hair when he enters the trailer and gives him a sad smile, not meeting his eyes, when he wishes her good morning. He sets down the tray of coffee, handing one to Sara without a word then walks across to open the bag of donuts and offer it to Skye. Every morning on his way in, no matter how early, he stops and picks up coffee and donuts for the girls, always making sure that they put Skye’s favorite, strawberry glazed with rainbow sprinkles, on the top and every morning she takes it from the bag with a smile and a thank you that’s guaranteed to brighten up his mood no matter what.

Except for today. Today she hesitates, hand stretched out for the bag, and he watches as her eyes quickly flick from him to Sara before she withdraws her hand and shakes her head with a polite no, thank you. Norman feels his heart drop to the bottom of his boots and it takes all his willpower not to turn on Sara and give her a piece of his mind but, for Skye’s sake, he bites back the words and slumps into the seat in front of the basin, leaning back as Skye turns on the water and starts washing his hair. The atmosphere in the small trailer is tense, the usual banter of jokes and shared stories between them replaced with an uncomfortable silence and he realizes that he misses the sound of her voice. Hearing her tell of her family and friends or what movie she watched the night before, which book she’s reading, relaxes him as his mind readies itself for the day ahead and, although he tries to draw her out a few times, she just gives him monosyllabic answers until he gives up and Sara, seemingly oblivious to the change in his mood, fills the silence with her own chatter.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The situation that morning sets his mood for the day and he works out his aggression by throwing himself into the physicality of his role until, by the end of his day, he’s made up his mind to tell Skye how he feels and take his chances. Armed with the knowledge that she likes him too, he invents what he hopes is a foolproof plan, rushing from set the moment he’s no longer needed and heading home to prepare. He’s just putting the finishing touches to his masterpiece in place when he hears a knocking on his front door, right on cue.

“It’s open,” he yells.

“Norman?” comes Skye’s tentative voice from the hallway.

“In the kitchen.”

“I got your text. You’re having a ‘hair emergency’? What the hell did you do? If this is another one of your pranks, I swear to God I’m gonna…” she trails off as she emerges into the kitchen, taking in the sight of him standing at the table, knife in hand as he awkwardly chops at the line of salad vegetables in front of him.

He watches her eyes travel the room, seeing the mess of bowls and cooking ingredients he has lining the table and lingering on the dining table already set for a romantic dinner for two, complete with candles and flowers.

“What are you doing?” she asks, spreading her arm to indicate the chaos he’s carefully created. “What is all this?”

“I thought I’d try that recipe you gave me, the one from your Grandma, remember?” he tells her, moving to the stove to dip a spoon into the pot of sauce that’s simmering on the top. “But I guess I did something wrong. Here, try this.”

He holds out the spoon to her, seeing the indecision in her eyes for a second before she leans forward to take a small taste, screwing up her face a little as she swallows.

“God, Norman, did you even read the recipe? Where’s the seasoning?”

“I don’t know, maybe I missed a step,” he shrugs, trying to look contrite but inwardly smiling as she sets down her heavy bag and starts rummaging through the various jars on the table, nudging him aside to add a few things to the pot on the stove until she’s satisfied.

“Hair emergency, huh?” she says, giving him a sideways glance as she takes the knife from his hand and sets about salvaging the mangled mess he’s made so far.

“Well I knew you wouldn’t come if I said it was a cooking emergency but if you thought I’d messed with my hair, you’d be here in a flash.”

“Smart-ass,” she says with a sigh and he grins widely at her.

While she works on the salad greens, he starts clearing some of the clutter from the table, using it as an excuse to lean into her personal space as much as possible.

“So, are you going home this weekend?” he asks casually, throwing dirty dishes into the already packed dishwasher.

“I’d like to, my mom’s been nagging me to visit but it’s just so far to keep flying back and forth. I spend half the weekend in the airport.”

“Yeah, but you must miss your family, right?”

“Of course. It’s not like I was living at home anyway but they were always close by, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, pausing before he asks the question he really wants an answer to, feeling sweat break out on his palms. “Your boyfriend has to be pining for you though. It has to be hard being apart for so long.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she tells him, looking slightly puzzled and he can hear a note of defensiveness in her tone.

“Oh, really? I thought I heard you talking to Sara one day about how you couldn’t wait to get home and give Jack as many hugs and kisses as he could stand.”

“Ahh, Jack,” she says and he sees her expression soften into something else entirely, a small smile playing across her lips. “Jack’s not my boyfriend but we have been having quite the love-affair for the past few years. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I see,” is all he can manage, his hopes falling away as his suspicions are confirmed, wondering why she would confess to Sara that she liked him if she was already involved with someone back home but then she giggles, raising the back of her hand to cover her mouth and it’s his turn to give her a puzzled look.

“Jack is my mom’s dog,” she informs him with a light laugh. “Totally owns my heart and it’s complicated because she won’t let me steal him, catches me every time I put him in the car to take him home with me. I thought I showed you a picture of him but I guess not.”

“No,” he says, unable to stop the smile that’s splitting his face, “but I’d love to see him.”

“Okay, but first, I think your dinner is done.”

She tosses the last of the veggies into the waiting serving bowl and drizzles a little dressing over the top before shaking it then turns to the stove to stir the pot there one more time, tasting its contents and nodding satisfactorily at the result.

“You’re all set,” she tells him, handing him the spoon and bending to scoop up her purse from the chair. “All you need to do is drain the spaghetti and warm the bread and you’ll be good to go. You did a pretty good job for your first time.”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Well, I figure your date will be here any minute so I thought I’d make myself scarce. Don’t want any awkward encounters on the doorstep.”

“My date’s already here,” he says, looking her in the eyes and taking her bag out of her hand to put it back on the chair, “and now she’s going to sit herself down, have some wine and let me wait on her.”

He takes her arm, hushing her stammered protests, and steers her to the dining table where he pulls out a seat for her and pours her a glass of wine from the bottle open on the table. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out his lighter to ignite the candles with a flourish that has her giggling into her wine, a sound that fills him with a warmth he’s really starting to enjoy. He leaves her at the table while he finishes putting the dinner together then returns with his arms laden to serve her with the meal they created. He can see the nervousness in her as they start to eat but he keeps up a steady stream of small talk, pulling anything out of his brain to put her at ease. At first she eats self-consciously, taking tiny bites and using the conversation as an excuse to keep dropping her fork to her plate but, as their back and forth falls into a more comfortable rhythm, he sees her seem to forget about what she’s doing and dig into the food with gusto until her plate is clean and she’s mopping up the last of the sauce with a piece of warm bread while she regales him with a tale of her college days.

With a satisfied smile, he sits back to listen to her talk, loving the animated way her hands move as she makes a point and the way her face shines as she discusses her passions. Finally it dawns on her that she’s doing all the talking and he sees her face flush a little, her fingers nervously twirling her wine glass as she looks down at the table for a moment then back up to him.

Norman, this has been really lovely. Thank you for inviting me over and letting me cook,” she tells him, giving him a sassy grin, “but I really should go. We have another early call tomorrow. I should let you get to bed.”

“Nope,” says Norman simply.

“What?” she asks, looking at him in confusion once more.

“You haven’t had dessert,” he tells her. “The evening is still young. I want you to go get comfy on the sofa, find us something good to watch on Netflix and when I’ve just cleared the table, I’ll bring you something that will make your mouth water.”

“At least let me help you clean up,” she offers.

“No way,” he tells her, shaking his head as he lifts the dirty plates from the table, glad to hear that she’s stopped talking about leaving. “You spend all week taking care of me, let me return the favor for once. Now go, sit.”

He shoos her away from the table and into the living room, making sure she’s settled before he carries the plates over to the dishwasher, trying to figure out how he’s going to safely cram any more things in there.

“Did you still not get caught up on Game of Thrones?” she asks him and he looks up from what he’s doing to see her looking scornfully over the back of the sofa at him. “What kind of fanboy are you?”

“Working on it,” he mutters, forcing the last fork into the cutlery basket and trying, unsuccessfully, to get the door to close.

“Oh my God, you really watch this?” she practically screeches from the other room and he gives up his war with the dishwasher to go see what she’s talking about, leaning over the back of the sofa as she clicks though his history on Netfllix.

“What? Top Gear? There’s nothing wrong with Top Gear,” he says defensively, wondering if letting her loose with his remote was such a good idea after all.

“I know! I’m just surprised that you have such good taste, that’s all,” she tells him, sticking her tongue out at him and pressing play on the next episode on his watchlist.

He shoves her shoulder playfully and climbs over the back of the sofa to slide down beside her, his attention caught by the tv and they sit comfortably together as the episode runs its course, sharing their favorite moments from previous episodes and laughing at this one. When it ends and the next one cues up ready to start, Skye leans away from Norman to give him a long look.

“What?” he asks.

“Somebody promised me a mouth-watering dessert and has yet to deliver,” she tells him in a serious voice.

“Aw shit, I forgot,” he says, clambering up over the back of the sofa and rummaging in the fridge to emerge with two bowls that he brings back, handing one to Skye along with a spoon and then flopping back down on the sofa to watch her as she peers inside it.

“Tiramisu?”

“Homemade Tiramisu,” he corrects her. “I remember you said it was your favorite.”

“You made Tiramisu from scratch?” she asks skeptically, poking the gooey, creamy dessert in her bowl with her spoon.

“Well, technically no,” he laughs, “but it is homemade.”

“Okay, as long as I’m not going to get food poisoning.”

“Hey! My cooking wasn’t that bad,” he says poking her in the thigh as she takes a taste of the rich dessert, watching her eyes close in pleasure, the thought crossing his mind of if she’d look like that with him making love to her.

“Geez, how much rum is in this?” she asks, snapping him out of his little fantasy, leaving him a little flustered and a more than a little turned on.

“It’s good, huh?”

“It’s divine,” she says, savoring another mouthful.

“Oops, you got a little cream on your…” he sets down his bowl, to take her chin gently in his hands, his thumb wiping away the sticky drop on her skin and sucking it into his mouth.

He sees her eyes widen a little as they track that movement, her pupils dilating slightly and he feels a stirring in the pit of his stomach. Realizing he’s still cupping her chin, he lets go, inhaling deeply and then reaching to take her bowl softly from her hands and set it next to his, turning back to search her eyes for a moment for some signal that he shouldn’t proceed but all he sees is that slight questioning look she’s been giving him most of the evening. Exhaling slowly, he reaches up to take her face in both hands, her skin warm and soft beneath the roughness of his palms and guides his lips to hers in a tentative kiss. He doesn’t push it, just massages his lips softly over hers, taking measure of her reaction, feeling her respond slowly at first but then pull away from him with a snap, jerking her head out of his hands and eyeing him distrustfully.

“What the hell?” she asks and he can hear the tremor in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says, raising his hands and leaning back out of her personal space. “I just.. I couldn’t help myself, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay. I thought we were having a nice evening, two friends sharing a meal and hanging out not… whatever that was.”

“We were having a nice evening… are having one. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go so fast. It’s just, you look so pretty tonight and you make me feel so relaxed with you, I just needed to kiss you.”

“But why?” she asks in a small voice, her fingertips brushing against her lips where he had kissed her.

“Why?” he asks, a little perplexed by her question. “Because I like you, Skye, why else? I wanted to take things slow, make this a real date but I’ll confess you drive me a little crazy and having you here alone with me is making me think all sorts of thoughts I probably shouldn’t be having.”

“Is this a joke?” she asks, her tone cold enough to dampen any ardor that was growing in him.

“A joke? Why would it be a joke? Christ no, Skye.”

“Because a man like you would never look at a girl like me that way unless it was a joke. Or a bet,” she tells him, voice wavering as she echoes Sara’s words to her.

“A bet? Did someone do that to you?” he asks, hands balling into fists at the very thought of her being treated that way but she doesn’t answer him, she doesn’t need to, he can see the answer shining in the tears which are rimming her hazel eyes.

He shakes out his fists, moving slowly to place his hands on her upper arms and making sure she’s looking at him before he speaks.

“Listen to me, you are beautiful and I don’t ever want you to think you’re not. This,” he tells her as runs his hands down from her arms, over the curve of her waist and along to rest on her thighs, “is not an issue. It’s just an extension of your heart and soul and what’s inside makes the outside every bit as attractive to me. I would desire you if you were fat or thin, as long as you were you.”

Skye is looking at him hard and he can see her overwhelming need to believe him fighting furiously with all the times she’s been hurt before.

“How long have you known me?” he asks suddenly, trying a different tact.

“A little over two years,” she replies.

“And have you ever known me to lie about anything? You know I hate lying, I have no need for it in my life.”

“I know.”

“Then believe me when I say I’m not lying to you now. I like you Skye, I have for some time, I just haven’t had the balls to do anything about it until now. I’d like to see if this… us… if we could be something but you have to trust me.”

She sits very still, eyes still locked to his face but he can see the internal struggle she’s having and he mentally cheers when she lets out a shaky breath and brings his hands back up from their resting place on her lap to press them back against her cheeks, giving him a small smile of encouragement that’s all he needs to resume kissing her. This time, it’s different, although still a little reserved in the beginning, she soon takes the initiative, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue until he parts them to let her in. Her tongue presses against his, the taste of coffee and rum filling his mouth, and he deepens the kiss, dropping his hands to pull her in closer to him, feeling the swell of her breasts rubbing against his chest. He pushes one hand up under the edge of her shirt, feeling her tense for a second as his fingers caress her stomach, then relax as he moves up to stroke at her breast through the surface of her bra. He makes out with her, teasing and tasting her lips, letting his hands explore her torso, for an undefined amount of time, enjoying the feel of her under his skin, the way touching her is making him as hard as a rock for her, his cock an uncomfortable bulge in his jeans. Her hands are locked in his shirt front, clinging to him, keeping him trapped against her as she moans a little into his mouth under his caresses.

With an aching reluctance, he severs their kiss, breathing hard as he tries to focus on her face, the room swimming a little as a result of their prolonged make-out session. She’s smiling up at him from the position he’s worked her into against the sofa cushions, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in such a way as to send a jolt of desire directly to his throbbing cock. He knows he either has to end this now and send her home, take an ice bath and go to bed to jerk off alone at his memory of her taste and the feel of her body under his or…

“I want you,” he says, voice raw with emotion, not regretting the words for an instant once they’ve left his mouth, letting them take their chances with her.

“I want you too,” she replies huskily with no hesitation and, with what he’s knows is a courageous move on her part, she lifts the bottom of her t-shirt and pulls it quickly over her head, letting it drop from her fingers as she lets him look at her.

“Let your hair down,” he instructs and she pulls off the hair tie holding her ponytail in place, shaking her long, red hair to fall loose around her shoulders.

“God, it’s beautiful,” he tells her, running his fingers through its silky length. “Do you know how many fantasies I’ve had about doing this to you? It turns me on whenever I think about it.”

“And now that turns me on,” she tells him, tipping her head back and letting him comb his fingers from scalp to tip.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, wrapping her hair lightly around his fist and keeping her head pulled slightly back so that he can press hot, wet kisses against the base of her throat. “All of you is beautiful, baby.”

Her hands come up to cradle his head as he works his kisses down over her breasts, losing himself in teasing her nipples through her bra until she whines in frustration and quickly removes it, a moment of self-consciousness rearing up as her fingers start toward covering herself up and then stop as he takes her breast in his hand and squeezes it gently, licking the ripeness of her nipple with his tongue. She moans a little above him and he sits back with a grin on his face, taking a breast in each hand, rubbing and squeezing, feeling his cock twitch a little more in protest at all the stimulation.

“Big and beautiful, baby, just how I like ‘em. All the more for me to tease,” he tells her, giving them a harder squeeze that has her gasping under him.

Leaning forward to place another kiss on her smiling lips, he sits back again, eyes travelling down over her torso to the skirt that’s covering her lower half before he looks back to her face, asking her the unspoken question. With a small nod of her head, she raises herself up so that he can tug off her skirt, laying back on the sofa in front of him in nothing but her panties. This time her hands do come defensively over to cover the flesh of her stomach but he takes them in his and gently moves them away.

“Don’t,” he says softly. “I want to see you.”

“But I hate it,” she whispers shamefully.

“I don’t. Do you know what I see?”

“No.”

“I see a reminder of good times,” he says, planting a gentle kiss in the center of her stomach. “This right here, this is the time you took your mom out for sushi on her birthday because you’re the only person who’ll eat it with her.”

He lays another kiss a few inches over.

“And this is the cake you had at your cousin’s graduation with the vanilla frosting that you told me must have come from heaven.”

Another kiss on the other side.

“Oh, this could be my favorite, this right here,” he breathes against her skin, kissing it again, “this is when your niece insisted you take her for ice-cream even though you’d been letting her practice her make up skills on you and you looked like a team of clowns had painted your face in the dark but you still went because you love her like your own and you wanted her to be happy.”

He lowers his next kiss, his lips just skimming the edge of her panties and he feels her shift a little beneath him.

“This one, babe, this reminder is just for me. It’s our first date, a reminder of the fact that you would come to my house and help me cook a meal, all the time assuming it’s for another woman, because you wanted to help me out and that tells me everything I ever need to know about why I want you in my life.”

Norman feels her hands come to his head again, raising his face to look at hers and he sees the unshed tears flooding her eyes as she strokes his cheek and pulls him up to crush her lips to his.

“Don’t you dare cry,” he whispers against her lips. “Tonight is a celebration.”

She nods, hands wrapping around his neck as she kisses him hard, pulling him down to lay half on top of her. He strokes the curves of her skin, leaving no part untouched, until his fingers find their way to her panties, skimming down over her mound to press into her through the thin cotton, a moan escaping him as he feels her wetness under his fingertips.

“I have to know,” he says, pushing up off her and kneeling next to her on the sofa, grinning down at her puzzled face.

“Know what?” she asks as he reaches for her panties and wiggles her out of them, tossing them to the floor.

“Ha! I knew it!” he crows triumphantly. “I knew you were a natural redhead!”

“You could have just asked,” Skye laughs, shaking her head.

“Are you kidding? I may not have much skill in the female department but even I know that you never ask a woman her age or if she dyes her hair!”

“Oh, I think you have a fair amount of skill when it comes to the ladies, Mr. Reedus,” she informs him with a smirk, raising herself up into her elbows. “Well, apart from one thing, that is?”

“Which is?” he asks, concern furrowing his brow that he may have made some faux-pas that he’s yet unaware of.

“You are far too slow in getting undressed when you have your partner, naked and ready before you, just waiting for you to get down to business.”

He throws his head back with a throaty laugh, conceding her point as he swiftly discards his clothing, freeing his aching cock with a sigh of relief, his ego swelling just a little with the appreciative look she gives him. He climbs back on the sofa, resuming his position between her thighs, letting his cock rub against the slickness of her pussy a few times before he leans down to kiss her once more, slowly and intimately, letting his tongue tangle with hers until he can’t tell where one ends and the other starts. He reaches down as he kisses her, fingers tickling through the hair on her mound to part her folds and find the soft mass of her clit, stroking it firmly until she’s rocking up under him and he can feel how much wetter she was than before. With a final swipe of his tongue against hers, he withdraws, kneeling back up and pulling her with him.

“Up,” he tells her, taking a sitting position on the sofa. “I want you on top of me, I want to be able to reach every part of you and watch your face as I bury myself inside of you.”

“But Norman, I…”

“But nothing. I know my body is old and crapped out but it’s not as bony as it looks,” he tells her deflecting the real protest that he knew was about to come from her lips and pulling her onto his lap to straddle his thighs. “Perfect, baby.”

He holds her hips steady as she lowers herself onto him, watching the way she bites her lip again as he slips inside of her, nearly coming from the feel of her surrounding him, her tightness squeezing at him as he fills her all the way. Her head tips back a little, exposing the succulent flesh of her neck to him once more and he lowers his mouth to it, sucking and licking until she starts writhing against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she begins to ride his cock. Her hips undulate against him, the motion making him light-headed as she grinds into him and he looks down to where they meet, biting his own lip as he watches her pussy envelop and release him over and over. He tucks his face down to suckle at her breasts, lifting each one to his mouth to tease her nipples with his teeth, hearing her moan wildly with each nip he makes. He lets her go, running his hands down her sides and reaching back to squeeze her ass, raising her up slightly and holding her steady so that he can thrust up into her for a moment instead of her doing all the work. The squeal that she makes from this move almost tips him over the edge and he lets her go, pushing a hand up to tangle in her hair and bring her mouth to his in a messy kiss.

With her lips tight against his, tongues clashing as they fight for dominance over each other’s mouth, he thrusts his other hand between them, seeking out her clit, wanting to tease her into oblivion so he can watch her come first. She breaks their kiss, head back, eyes half-closed and her mouth opens in a tiny, perfect circle as he strokes and rubs at the hot spot between her folds, manipulating her with different pressures and angles until her eyes fly open and she grasps at his wrist, keeping his movement the same until he feels her body contract around him, her breath rushing out in short gasps as she comes over his cock and his fingers, her slickness dripping from her. He holds her tight as she catches her breath, the smile that slides across her lips when she meets his eyes one of pure lust and sexual satisfaction and she renews her rhythm on him with a vigor that has him biting back curses in seconds as her body punishes his cock in the most delicious way. He cups her breasts once more, hands clenching and releasing their weight, an image of him fucking her amazing cleavage springing unbidden to his mind and, with a strangled cry, he comes hard into her, pulling her down onto him until he’s jerked every last drop into her and he wraps his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against her shoulder until his heart stops trip-hammering in his chest and he can form words again. He lifts his head, looking up into her flushed face, her hands coming to stroke the sweat-laden hair back from his brow as she lays tiny kisses on his nose and cheeks.

“You didn’t get to finish your dessert,” he tells her apologetically.

“I think I’ll live,” she says with a shrug and a small laugh.

“Come on,” he says, slapping her lightly on her ass and helping her up off of him.

He takes her hand and leads her up the stairs to his bedroom, wishing for a second that he’d taken time to tidy up before she arrived but never imagining that she would actually be staying the night. They slip between the cool sheets of his bed, his arms automatically finding their way around her as she rests against his chest, her nails teasing the sparse hair around his nipples.

“Skye, I have a confession to make,” he whispers in the darkness, his fingertips trailing against her spine and he feels her fingers still on his chest as she tenses beside him. “It wasn’t exactly a lie but I kind of feel like I wasn’t totally honest with you tonight and it’s going to make me feel like crap if I don’t fess up.”

“Okay…” she replies, a hesitation in her voice.

“I’m actually a pretty good cook. Your Grandma’s recipe was a piece of cake but I kind of messed it up on purpose so that you’d have to stay and help me out. And trying to cut veggies the wrong way nearly killed me. Can you forgive me?”

He feels the tension leave her body again, her fingers resuming their comforting motion against his chest.

“Oh, I think you’re forgiven,” she tells him and snuggles closer to him.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 Norman wakes the next morning, slapping at the insistent alarm as it cuts through his brain and groaning with the thought of having to get out of his nice comfy bed to go torture himself on set once more. With the slow realization that comes with waking, he remembers the night before and, with a smile splitting his face, he rolls over to reach for Skye only to be greeted with an empty space where she’d lain. He sits up, listening for sounds of her in the bathroom or downstairs but there’s nothing but silence. He pulls his tired body out of the bed, stretching on the spot, before he does a quick survey of the small two-story house, calling her name but knowing in his heart that she’s already left. Feeling a little despondent at her absence and, if he’s honest with himself, just a little hurt, he takes a quick shower and pulls on his clothes before heading out to the set.

He arrives at the make-up trailer with his usual offering of coffee and donuts, giving Sara a cursory greeting as his eyes seek out Skye, finding her almost hidden in the back corner, stacking clean towels on the shelves there. He sets down the coffee on a cluttered work surface and walks over to her, ignoring the look that Sara is throwing his way.

“You left,” he says, leaning into her space and pitching his voice low, trying hard not to let it sound like an accusation but knowing that it is.

“I thought it would be best,” she replies, matching his quiet tone. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

“Obligated?” he sighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, Skye, do you still not get it, even after last night? It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a bet. I wanted to be with you, I **want** to be with you. I think you’re smart and beautiful, sassy as fuck and sexy as hell. I don’t care what package you come in, I just care that you’re you. What else can I do to make you see that?”

He sees the tears rimming her eyes again but before she can answer him, Sara’s voice sounds behind them.

“Why are all the donuts strawberry glazed, you know I hate those,” she asks in a plaintive voice that stabs into Norman’s brain and triggers something in him.

“Because, Sara,” he says, whirling on her and snatching the bag from her surprised hand, getting well into her personal space, “my girlfriend happens to like those best of all and if getting her strawberry glazed donuts every fucking morning makes her happy then that’s what I’m going to do. And if she wants to sit there and eat the whole bag, you know what? I’m going to sit there and hand feed her every fucking one because I happen to think she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen and if eating a whole bag of donuts is what it takes to make her happy, then so be it. I’m not going to judge her for it because all I want is for her to be happy and I’ll do whatever it takes to put a smile on that pretty face. Do you have a problem with that?”

Sara shakes her head, stunned into silence by the passion of his words and he turns back to Skye, opening the bag and reaching in to hold out a donut to her, overjoyed to see the tears are gone from her eyes and she’s smiling as she leans forward to take a bite of the proffered donut. He drops the bag to the counter, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her waist and close his mouth over hers, tasting the sticky sweetness on her lips as he kisses her hard.

You make me happy,” she tells him when he pulls away, still keeping her locked in his arm.

“Good, you make me happy too” he says and offers her another bite of the sweet treat in his hand which she takes with a smile that tells him he might still have his work cut out for him convincing her that she has nothing to be ashamed of over her looks but he’s going to give it a damn good shot because, for him, the benefits are more than worth it.


End file.
